She fell back and let the lantern drop to her waist. There she held it, her fingers trembling despite her effort to appear calm. Many days and nights she had waited expectantly for the man who, by voice and fist, had displayed an enmity toward them; she had pictured his arrival, or that of his emissary, and planned what she would say and do. Now, certain that he had come at last—after she had long ceased to watch for him—and reading justice and fearlessness in the stern visage before her, she was dumb and helpless.
Her father's voice, rising from the hearth-side, brought her to action. "Wal! wal!" he was saying, "don' keep th' door open all night."
With a defiant step forward, and as if to bar intrusion, she spread out her arms. "You're here," she said in a low tone.
Dallas' words did not penetrate the head-covering worn by David Bond; and the fire having died down for lack of fuel, the interior of the shack was so dark that he could see only her gesture. He thought her alone and frightened.
"Have no fear, daughter," he begged. "I will go somewhere else. But the ice is so——"
His gentle address surprised and disarmed her. She advanced relentingly as her father came up behind.
"W'y—a stranger?" cried the section-boss.
She stopped him. "Yes, but we wouldn't turn a dog away to-night, dad." She motioned David Bond to enter.
As he crossed the sill, Dallas, for the first time, caught a glimpse of the white horse and the pung, and saw Squaw Charley lifting his load of chips from the wagon-box.
"You came together?" she asked.